


The Seaside

by suspiciousteapot



Series: Imagine Claire and Jamie ficlets [21]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 19:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousteapot/pseuds/suspiciousteapot
Summary: Anonymous asked: imagine Claire taking Brianna to Faiths grave... Claire sings by the seaside...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a prompt sent to imagineclaireandjamie on tumblr.  
> As always, respectful comments, etc. are greatly appreciated :)

Why was it that Brianna seemed to get heavier when she was sleeping? Was it the furrow in her brow denoting her frustration at the long flight? Or perhaps Claire’s own fatigue, not just from the flight, but from being back in Paris once more.

The city had patched itself up well after the war, like a patient embarrassed by their own wounds. Yet the traces of those wounds would always remain; deep scars visible to memory’s unforgiving eyes.

“Claire?” Frank called from the waiting cab. He’d noticed something had been off about her ever since she’d agreed to come with him to his conference, but he suspected that was a wound he shouldn’t prod.

Claire tore her gaze from a city peopled with those now far below it, and let modern Paris whisk her and her small family away.

—

The blue eyes that smiled at her in her dream reached a hand to her cheek, its small size and accompanying “Maaaama” pulling her back to reality.

While Claire had miraculously managed to drop off almost the moment they’d made it to their hotel, her jet lag hadn’t stopped the disquieting memories that swirled through the city from shaping themselves into dreams.

Thankfully Bree seemed to have slept peacefully ( _of course, Beauchamp, why wouldn’t she?_ ) and was now regaining her seemingly inexhaustible toddler energy.

“Good up. Pris!” Bree exclaimed, happy to have managed to wake her somnolent mother.

A laugh broke through the sorrow that engulfed her upon waking, surprising her. “No no pumpkin, that’s not a good word. Paaaa-ris. Yes?”

Bree rolled onto her back, thinking, and Claire caught a glimpse of a note on the other pillow. Frank’s pillow.

“Paaaarse.”  Interrupted Bree, looked back at Claire, hopeful.

Claire leaned over to collect the letter, kissing her daughter’s little auburn head on her way. “Good enough, smudge.”  

_Darling,_

_I’ve gone off to the conference and thought I’d leave a note and let you get some sleep instead of waking you. I managed to cajole Bree back to sleep too; with any luck you’ll get a lie-in._

_The busboy suggested a nice restaurant called Épicure on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, so I’ve made reservations at 7. Hope that suits._

_Enjoy Paris._

_Love,_

_Frank._

Enjoy indeed. Why had she even decided to come? Frank’s conference was just for the weekend, but they’d decided to take the rest of the week as a vacation. She suspected Frank thought it would lift her bouts of depression. Truth be told, she’d wondered the same; if facing some ghosts might help her finally say goodbye to them. If not for herself, then for Bree, and for the promise she’d made for Jamie. And for Frank too, who was trying his best to make a normal life for them.

Yet looking outside, the deep sorrows of both her earlier visit to Paris and her more recent yet earlier still time in Paris cut deep in her chest. _Brilliant, Beauchamp. You’re supposed to bandage a wound, not rip it open._

“Mama, we can go to the pock?” Once more, Brianna snapped her out of her reverie.

A park was good, safe. There were things she knew she would not forgive herself for avoiding, but they could wait a day. They had already waited 200 years, after all.

“Yes darling, let’s go to the park.”

—

It was comforting, to get lost in the city, listening to Brianna babbling on about all the new sights and sounds and “speak French” (unfortunately this involved her shouting “hron hron” at passers by. Claire rapidly shooshed her and explained was impolite, so instead Brianna shouted “bonjour!” Which was on the whole better, but still earned some frowns.)

A corner of green poked itself into the grey of the Parisian streets as they rounded a corner. Brianna took off like a small dog, shouting “pock!”

Claire’s laugh was cut off as she caught up and caught sight of the church still standing proudly beside the green space it sheltered.

_Oh I do like to be beside the seaside_

A dream come to life, her feet moved without her consent, knowing the way to the stone that had weathered 200 years in 6.

_I do like to be beside the sea_

“Sad, mama?” Brianna knelt by her mother; beside her sister. The only time the two would ever meet.

_I do like to stroll along the Prom, Prom, Prom_

Claire took Brianna’s hand in reassurance. “I am, darling. I… there’s someone here you would have loved very much. Who would have loved you very much.”

_Where the brass bands play, “Tiddely-om-pom-pom”_

Bree leaned into her mother, pulling her arm into a hug.  _Thank you for seeing her safe._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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